"One last night of freedom, my man," Theodore clapped Draco on the shoulder and poured him another shot of firewhiskey.
Draco smiled politely.
"You don't seem excited, Malfoy," Blaise drawled. "Astoria is Pureblood, beautiful, rich, altogether a sweet girl…what more could you want?"
"Oh, Astoria's great. I'm very lucky to have her." But even to his own ears it sounded like a lie.
…
He thought that maybe he had stood by the minister and stared down that flower-strewn aisle for days, just waiting, but logic told him it was only minutes before his eye caught sight of the white-clad figure approaching him. A thick veil covered her face and the bouquet clasped in her hands trembled slightly. A smile, genuine for once, spread across Draco's face as he held out his hand to his bride.
He lifted the veil, a gauzy waterfall trimmed with lace, and looked deep into a pair of dark green eyes, so brilliant and perfect he swore never to look away. Her perfect oval face, the strong chin and high forehead, looked up into his unabashedly, stray black strands brushing her cheeks and her throat, full lips mocking him with their promise. Draco checked himself before he leaned in for a premature kiss.
He looked away from her, avoiding temptation, but could not resist long. He looked back into her smiling face. His eyes met her brown ones.
His heart plummeted. It felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. He gasped for air. He thought he would be sick.
Warm brown eyes looking concerned. Brown hair falling in waves to her waist. Small, perfect features. Astoria.
Draco faltered for only a minute. When he slipped the ring on her hand, he did so carefully, without stumbling. He kissed her with his eyes closed.
…
The wedding reception at the Malfoy manor was, to say the least, extravagant. Narcissa knew no other way to celebrate. Lucius even had to concede it was wonderful, if only because the fountain was sprouting forth streams of champagne.
Draco's carefully rehearsed enthusiasm was convincing enough to almost everyone. To others, he clearly had a case of wedding jitters. Perfectly natural.
In fact, after a few glasses of champagne he thought he was doing well. Arm-in-arm with Astoria, they cycled among the guests, greeting everyone, accepting their congratulations, their wishes, their hopes. They thought they had spoken with everyone, but, rounding the corner from the crammed drawing room into the less crowded entrance hall, they all but ran into someone they had not yet greeted.
Brushing thick, black hair behind her shoulders, she smiled at them for a few brief seconds before the air was knocked out of her by the look in a pair of grey eyes.
"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I should not have come anyway." It was said in a hurry, so breathily the words were barely audible and Pansy turned away, gliding through the crowd, outside into the frigid night, through the gates. The sound of her Disapparition was lost in the noise of the party and only Draco was aware of how much her absence stung.
"Who was that?" Astoria asked, receiving no answer.
…
Astoria was exquisite in a cerulean silken negligée, but the image of a petite, dark-haired woman hovered in both her and Draco's mind on their wedding night.
Draco did his best, he truly did, to push Pansy out of his mind, for she was the past now. It was far too late to change his mind, to disobey his parents, to run away with her like they said they would that one time long, long ago in what seemed to be a different place altogether than the world they lived in now.
Astoria knew what it was to see desire and love in her husband's eyes now. She had always wondered how brightly they would light-up, how they would smolder, how they would seem deep and endless. Had always imagined she would be the object of their gaze.
He whispered Astoria's name over and over that night, gasped it, groaned it, shouted it even. But even as 'Astoria' faded on his tongue, 'Pansy' played across his lips as he slept.
…
It was strange how a word, for many months now unspoken, resounded loudly in their big airy mansion. It echoed across the tiles in the hall, bouncing off the high ceilings, steaming up the window panes. Two syllables that she did not dare breathe.
But Draco had not come home for dinner after work and when he did come home it was late. He brought with him the scent of alcohol and smoke. She feared he was drunk but he answered her questions with a brisk sobriety that startled her.
"I went to the bar with some friends after work. Sorry I didn't tell you, I didn't think you would worry. No, I already ate."
Astoria took his cloak from his shoulders and led him to the den, where a fire was burning in the grate and she had been enjoying a glass of sangria. Draco stared off into a corner, preoccupied with those thoughts that so often stole him away from Astoria. Most nights she could enjoy the quiet of his contemplation, reading or napping on the sofa. She could watch him like that, his face rapt with memories, his eyes unfocused, for hours. Yet tonight she needed his attention.
Astoria rose, smoothly and silently as a cat, gliding out of the room and back in moments later with something clutched in her hand. Draco did not look up until she dropped the day's Prophet in his lap, the paper folded back and crumpled slightly. She jabbed a finger at the article he was already staring at.
"Winter Wedding in Scandinavia," he read aloud. Below the title a black and white photo of a young couple blinking up at him and waving merrily transfixed his attention. The woman wore a white gown, in sharp contrast to her black hair. The man standing next to her was tall and handsome in a dark suit, his arm around her waist. As he watched, they looked into each other's eyes and came together for a quick kiss. "They look happy." His voice was hoarse.
"Pansy Parkinson married a wealthy Scandinavian businessman yesterday in what is being called the wedding of the century. The minister of magic was there. As was Mr. and Mrs. Lucius Malfoy, the French minister as well, a number of famous Quidditch players…"
"We were invited…" Draco cut Astoria off mid-rant.
"Oh, so you knew?"
"Of course I knew! Pansy is my…was my…"
"You're what? She is not your wife. She is not going to have your child."
"My child? Astoria, what…" His anger dissipated immediately as her words began to have meaning. "Are you serious?"
She smiled and nodded and as he rose to his feet to kiss her and place his hand on her belly, the paper slipped from his lap, falling unnoticed to the carpet.
…
The little boy, a perfect miniature of himself, was not what Draco had dreamed of.
He had imagined a houseful of dark-haired children, a little girl that looked just like her mother. Yet that dream had long ago dissolved into impossibility. That future never existed
Scorpius had clambered onto the train with confidence though and Draco had been reminded so forcefully of his time at Hogwarts, his swagger and self-assurance. He made a note to speak with his son when he returned for the Christmas holidays. If he knew all his father's mistakes, maybe he could avoid them himself.
For Draco was happy now, he loved Astoria and he loved his son, but for some reason that first love seems to always stick around in your heart, even after moving on.
He knew the truth of that when a small First-year girl, with a head of black hair and green eyes that seemed to recognize Scorpius though having never met him before, ran up and introduced herself to his son. Draco knew that Scorpius was just as lost as he had been – he was his son after all.
The girl was showing Scorpius the powder blue pygmy puff her parents bought her as a going-away gift. Draco could just hear his response.
"Yes, I daresay it is the most darling creature I have ever seen. Far better than the owl my parents got me…"
Draco met Pansy's eyes. They both smiled and turned back to watch fondly as their children found a compartment together.
Pansy's daughter leaned out the window to wave to her mother, tears spotting her cheeks. Scorpius could be seen next to her, holding the pygmy puff in one hand, his other arm round the crying girl.
Scorpius grinned at his father.
Then again, maybe this was how it was supposed to be.